


Garland Moon

by Madampringle



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Flower Crowns, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentioned Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem), Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madampringle/pseuds/Madampringle
Summary: He was nearly seven when he truly began to notice the winding weaves of blooms that adorned the heads of the men, women and children around him. The Garland Moon was an exceptionally active moon, the smell of flowers and sugar and farm-stock always on the warm winds.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Lysithea von Ordelia, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	Garland Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Or, a run-through of all the Garland Moons that Lorenz did not receive a flower crown, and the one Garland Moon that he did. A bit of a character study and headcanon dump for my favorite 3H character. Extra notes are at the end.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of blood and the effects of war  
> -Implied neglect/abuse

He was nearly seven when he truly began to notice the winding weaves of blooms that adorned the heads of the men, women and children around him. The Garland Moon was an exceptionally active moon, the smell of flowers and sugar and farm-stock always on the warm winds. It was not often that the boy got to leave the bounds of the Estate, to see the valley villages with his father.

His father, who had already calmly scolded him for not keeping pace, not keeping firmly at his side. His father, who stood tall and firm. Who conversed smoothly with his guards and his counsels as they made way towards the markets. Inspections. Seeking out imperfections with products and market wares. Testing the abilities of the greatest merchants in central Gloucester. He was nearly seven, but he understood that what his father was doing was very important. Important enough that he had to act his best.

What he did not understand was why so many people had so many flowers in their hair. His little hands itched to reach up to pat his own head, where he was lacking the flowers that everyone else had. Passing some of the shops, some of the people even seemed to hurriedly hide their nest of flowers. They straightened their backs, steadied their voices, paid his father the respect he deserved. The village merchants were desperate to promote their products to the highest nobility in Gloucester.

Lorenz was desperate to find out why everyone had flowers in their hair. So the nearly seven year old trotted at his father’s side, chin up and eyes clear as he had been taught. Only after his father finished his rounds and the sun began to set behind the hills did the boy turn to look up at his father.

“Father? Why did the merchants and all the other children have flowers in their hair?”

His father’s eyes were the same as his own, crisply purple, piercing and noticeable from any distance. He was silent for many seconds and the boy forced himself to stay still, to not shift in regret of possibly asking a question that his father found unbecoming of him. He did not enjoy when his father scolded him. Finally, the Count answered, his voice as smooth as Lorenz had always known it to be.

“Garland Moon, the moon of which you were born, was named for the tradition of maidens weaving garlands of flowers, to be delivered to those who supposedly mean a great deal to them. Have your tutors not educated you on this?”

Lorenz shook his head, feeling that he had done something wrong, but not knowing exactly what. He would do better from then on, if only to not feel that strange feeling again.

“Mm. I suppose it is best they not focused on such frivolities, when you have an extensive amount of magic to learn. Do not waste time focusing on what lies on the heads of commoners and merchants. The blooms upon their heads do nothing to hide their ignorance. I would never allow tattered wildflowers to grace our bodies either, when we represent the dignity of our territory.”

His father looked away, focused forwards upon the convoy and carriage they would take back to the estate. Lorenz felt that confusing feeling, a feeling that he was still being peered at. A feeling that made him turn his eyes away quickly as well.

“You will come to understand this. No more questions for the evening, Lorenz. Certainly not ones pertaining to maiden’s tales.”

He was nearly seven years old, and that was the first and last time he asked his father about the flowers on the heads of the merchants.

  
————

He was eleven years old, and he knew each and every corner of the sprawling estate he called home. He knew each and every painting edged with golden framing. He knew each and every tapestry, woven with the finest of threads. He knew each and every bedroom and washroom and each and every maid and butler who served the rooms. He knew the fastest way to get to his father’s quarters, to get to the wardrobes to prepare for spectacular events that represented the best of Gloucester nobility.

He was Lorenz Hellman Gloucester after all, and he was quickly learning his roles, his responsibilities. His father worked so hard to give him the greatest tutors and mages. He had already begun to push the limits on the fire and light within his body. The Crest inside of him sang each time he tapped into it, with the sole purpose of making up for his failure in conjuring the dark magic his father had desired him to comprehend. He knew he had to improve, lest the words his father drilled into him would ring true. He would be an utter disappointment to the people of Gloucester if he was incapable of mastering the very magic that they were respected for. He would disappoint his father, tarnish their name, if he let anything beyond his tutoring, training and dedication to his family and people cross his mind. So he progressed onwards down the halls of his gracefully shadowed home, veering quickly towards the stables. He ignored the working maids, marched primly past the butlers without a word. It would have been atrociously disrespectful of them to distract him from his duty after all. With how far below his station they were, he doubted they would risk interrupting him.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned eleven this day, the 13th of the Garland Moon, and he had a new foal to care for. A grand responsibility for a nobleman after all, to receive their mount, perfectly bred in all forms for elegance, combat and status. This foal would be another way to prove his capabilities to his father, to show him how far his teachings had come. Caring for a horse would be no issue for him, after all.

He expected to enter the stables and joyously announce his presence to his foal, his lovingly named Rosaline. What he did not expect to see as he rounded the corner, was one of the older hostlers fiddling with something in her hands. Or, to see her child, who had been allowed to start training to become a hostler herself, bounce excitedly on her toes as her mother worked tediously. For a moment the heir nearly scowled, wanting to sharply scold the lazy woman for not doing what his father hired her to do.

...And yet...

They had not noticed his entrance yet, engrossed in their activity. Something within him ushered him to keep silent, to watch the sharp motions of the hostler’s fingers. Lorenz spotted an array of red and white and yellow. Roses, and daisies and wild buttercups, flowers of beauty and nobility tarnished by the very tattered wildflowers his father detested so much. She weaved them so smoothly that Lorenz felt a twinge of wonder, as muddled by aggravation as it was. He shifted quietly behind one of the wooden pillars supporting the roof, and watched keenly, letting every motion of her fingers sink into his mind.

Finally, the woman held her finished product before her daughter, wiping a smudge of dust off her freckled face before resting the flowers gently upon her child’s head. A secret peal of laughter was shared between them, and Lorenz felt...something. Something sharp and heavy, something stifling. He realized then, remembering as suddenly as he had each year around this time. It was the Garland Moon. Maidens weaved flowers to deliver them to those they deemed special. Each year had passed, each Garland Moon after the first he understood years ago. Each had passed and he had learned it was not his place to participate in such activities. For he was no commoner, and certainly no maiden.

If the old hostler gave one to her daughter, then obviously the girl was more special to her than anyone else. He supposed that was expected. Commoners, as well, common, as they seemed, surely found others to be special enough to gift their frivolous gifts. Parents gave garlands to their children...mothers gave garlands to their children. Why would he feel this way about their foolish little act? About the garland of blooms that the hostler’s daughter brushed her grubby hands against so tenderly, about the bright smile that adorned her face? The gardens of Gloucester had grander flowers anyway...

A foal was a far more impressive birthday gift than a ring of flowers. A foal that he needed to tend to, because clearly the hostlers were not. His sharp cough made his presence known, and he tapped his foot lightly as they scrambled back to their work. They were lucky he was feeling generous to not go straight to his father about this, though something tugged at his chest anyway when he saw the girl tuck her crown of flowers away behind a shabby crate.

He spent the next few hours feeding and treasuring his beloved black foal, and yet he could not shake the image of the hostler’s skilled weaving or the girl’s delighted visage from his mind.

Lorenz turned eleven this day, and he wondered deep down what it would feel like to be given a crown of flowers by a motherly woman who believed he was special beyond anything in the world.

  
———

Lorenz was almost 17 and he towered over his peers, just like his father. No longer was he the aimless boy prone to making mistakes in his father’s presence. He was the spitting image of nobility, with dazzling magic, a perfect posture and a brilliant steed of midnight black at his side. Oh, it was so lovely to be back home upon the elegant grounds of the estate.

That wasn’t to say the Royal School of Sorcery he attended in Fhirdiad was not up to par with the standards required for Leicester nobility. No, in fact, his first experience at a more public domain of education had been a wondrous one. He had met so many civilized and respectful members of the Kingdom’s high society in the academy, all of which were gifted in magic, just as he was. Though, of course, none shared his Crest of Magic. That could not be helped, fate did not favor everyone after all. The future of the Alliance depended on him, especially when the reasoning behind his leave from the Academy was due to boorish uprisings, clearly brought on by discontent in leadership. He pitied what the Kingdom had to endure, and yet it only served to remind him of his own approaching duties.

He missed Gloucester, truly. And yet he did not miss the barrage of flower garlands on the heads of men, women and children that graced him as they always did days before and after his birthday. Of course, he had grown far more accepting, more than happy to promote the celebrations if it brought happiness to the commoners and nobles alike. It was another small disagreement he had with his father’s beliefs, though one he kept silent about, like all the others. His father already worked enough to make their territory stronger than it had been in decades. Why would he disrupt that with pointless thoughts of his own? Soon he would be married. Soon, he would be preparing to lead the Alliance alongside his father if House Riegan proved to be incapable of it, with the Duke’s declining health and Sir Godfrey’s laughable inability to settle disputes right under his nose. Sitting in on the Roundtable Meetings had only secured that stance in his mind. House Riegan was indeed proving to be incapable of leading, and House Gloucester would restore peace to the Alliance.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester was ready to lead. He was not ready to feel that familiar ache in his chest when he spotted some of the beautifully woven garlands tied to the belts of the estate guards. He was not ready to feel his fingers clench as he watched visiting convoys with merchants still adorned with flowers of all colors and scents and sizes. Tattered wildflowers weaved pristinely, looking far less tattered now than the last time he had spent a Garland Moon in Gloucester. Now...he supposed they did resonate with a sense of beauty that he had come to notice.

The Kingdom was far too cold to see garlands on every citizen during the Garland Moon. Perhaps that was why he had enjoyed his birthday there, surrounded by people who also did not have flowers upon their heads. Even if he had celebrated alone, as expected, he still did not feel...alone.

He was not ready when he learned that his father would be away on business when he was to be turning seventeen. It was no trouble, of course. It would be achingly selfish to expect his father to be present during such a busy period, when the season’s planting was coming to fruition and merchandise had to be inspected. It would be achingly selfish to expect his father to drop everything just for another day of the year, even if that day was the day of his birth.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned seventeen, and he held firmly onto Rosaline’s reigns as he rode out across the rolling hills and fields, to one in-particular. There were crisp blue bellflowers and wild, wily thistles in the Field of Fire, and it was a far more enchanting spectacle than the kitchen staff’s repetitive cake recipe being placed before him two hours prior. Tattered wildflowers, so vibrant in color and abundance sprawled before him.

The reasoning behind the field’s name would come once the sun set. For now, Lorenz dismounted easily from Rosaline’s back, brushing his fingers fondly down the side of his companion’s flank. She whinnied softly and bumped her muzzle against his shoulder.

“Withold your affections, my dear. I know I am quite a stunning man, but I need not require such attention. How long has it been since we have ridden here?...Two years move so swiftly in that unbearably cold Kingdom.” He wondered idly what his father would say, if he saw him speaking like so to his horse.

“I suppose the saying goes. The world may change, but the fields stay the same. Bellflowers. Thistles. Some buttercups too...Would it be scandalous, to say I have grown fond of these common flowers?” His eyes followed the black mare’s head, as she swiveled to lock her eyes on him. She blinked once, before she shook her mane and swished a fly from her glossy tail. Lorenz could only watch as she lowered her head to graze at the thistle and grass below her.

“Oh yes, yes. I am chattering your ears off. No matter, Rosaline. I have a reason for coming here after all.” Lorenz pulled a crisp blanket from Rosaline’s saddle bag and settled it down smoothly upon the barest patch of green he could find overlooking the field. He then turned back to the waves of blooms before him, spending a few minutes plucking up pink thistles and blue bellflowers, their stems tangled in his hands. He took great care in settling himself upon the blanket, comfortable that Rosaline would stay near. She never did wander from him, the loyal mare.

He closed his eyes then. A memory of a hostler that had been long gone by now, weaving and pulling the thin stems of flowers into a secret string for her daughter. Memories of all the other women he had watched weave their crowns and garlands then crossed his mind. His hands moved now, his eyes opened, and the stems rolled between his fingers and across each other. How could he ever admit that he had been copying their movements whenever he found flowers, tainting his fingers with tattered stems and leaves?

It was not difficult for him to pull each flower, stem by stem, into a weaving array of blue and piercing pink. A crown, a garland of his own, and yet this was the first one he had completely finished.

It weighed as much in his hands as it did in his heart.

That goddess-forsaken weight. It always returned when he looked at the garlands that had never once encircled his head. Never by a mother, never by a lover, never by another. Lorenz had never worn a garland made by a maiden. He had never known what it felt like, to have someone put tattered wildflowers on the primly cut locks of violet upon his head. He could not possibly put his woven creation on himself. He was no maiden, he was no commoner, and he was not supposed to be the one doing the weaving. Who truly would be special to him anyway, to gift them a garland of flowers? Besides his father, of course, and that was out of the picture.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned 17 this day, and he found himself resting his creation of thistle and bellflower upon the head of his black mare. The fireflies lit up the Field of Fire as night descended upon him and his closest friend, blue and pink weaved into her mane of black.

———

Lorenz had turned 19, and Claude von Riegan has taken everything from him. The aloof, boorish excuse of a noble...If one could even consider him that! Here they were, in the most prestigious Academy in all of Fodlan, being taught and trained by quite possibly the most skilled commoner and mercenary he had ever known, and the suddenly appearing Riegan heir treated it like some flippant task. How could the Alliance accept this-this fraud, over the experienced and stable leadership that House Gloucester had offered for years?

He had never seen his father’s magic ripple so _heavily_ before, cracking glass and splintering wood under the choking pressure of-

Needless to say, he would watch Claude von Riegan like a hawk. Yes, he would have to begrudgingly fight alongside the scheming mongrel, but it would only serve to prove to their professor that he was clearly worthy of the respect and responsibility that had been stolen from him, from his father, from his house and territory. Once he secured his rightful place, finding a spouse that matched his wit and determination would be simple. Securing the Alliance’s future would be even simpler.

...It was true, his prior attempts had all failed. It was true, the professor had scolded him needlessly for his actions. He had not acted out of turn, this was how it worked for generations. Not just any woman would do, fit into the demanding lines of nobility, would help him achieve his goals to bring peace and prosperity to the Alliance. Surely the Professor...and everyone else who reprimanded him for his attempts to find a partner would understand that. Surely.

He did not understand, when Claude von Riegan walked into the Golden Deer’s classroom, sporting a finely woven garland of buttercups and daisies. Gold and white, like a sham of a crown for an heir who did not deserve it. Lorenz watched as Hilda and Ignatz and his other classmates crowded around the house leader.

“Woah! Claude, I didn’t know you had a special someone!”

“Hilda, relax. I promise you, this isn’t anything like that. Hey! Don’t look at me like that, Hills, or you, Leonie! If you must know, I had a discussion with our wonderful Teach about the great Garland Moon tradition. This upon my head, is her test run.”

Lorenz did not listen to the remainder of Claude’s humored words. His body was still, stunned at the words he had registered. The professor? Making a garland? For Claude von Riegan? Who had not been in the Alliance for more than two years? Who hardly knew a sliver of what Lorenz knew about Alliance politics and traditions, people and practices? Who disrespected every aspect of nobility that he was supposed to represent? The professor just...gave it to him? Placed it upon his head even after being told what it meant? It was blatant, it was favoritism, it was...

Claude von Riegan was special to the Professor. As countless other students who wore crowns of flowers this month were also special to their friends, or significant others. Such a realization, it-...Oh, something ugly and wretched boiled inside of him, fueling him, scaring him. By the end of the month, Lorenz was certain that flowers would encircle the heads of Raphael and Ignatz, somehow, some way. That Hilda and Leonie and Marianne and Lysithea would gift their garlands, if they made them, to people they find the most special to them. He despised the crushing weight that filled him again, every year, every Garland Moon.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester had turned 19 a week ago. Another week passed of failed attempts at courting, of watching Claude von Riegan and his wretched garland steal every birthright he had ever been raised to reach for, of brushing his sharply cut hair and huffing at the snickered remarks at it’s unappealing shape. Garland Moon ended, and not a single bloom touched his head. Perhaps the immature masses would have been silent about his hair if they had.

The weight was heavier than it had ever been, and for a moment he chased the faraway thought of what it would have felt like had the Professor deemed him the one she found special enough to give her garland of blooms.

  
———

Lorenz turned 20.

The professor was gone.

The monastery was attacked. The Empire had risen, bloodthirsty and brutal. They had waged war upon the Church, upon the Kingdom and-

There was no time for Garland Moons, and the crown atop of Claude von Riegan’s head was gone. No buttercups. No daisies. Gone. It brought Lorenz no comfort. Not even Claude deserved this kind of tragedy, this kind of crushing weight. He could see it in the eyes of the man he hated-

_Did he? Did he truly hate him?..._

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned 20 in silence, numbly monitoring the brutal verbal squabbling of the Roundtable at his father’s side, on the 13th day of the Garland Moon. A crumbling Alliance, moon after moon, and there was no time for garlands or birthdays, no matter how hard Hilda and Marianne tried tried to remind him afterwards.

He watched Claude von Riegan leave on swift feet behind his hobbling shell of a Grandfather, and wondered if any of them were special anymore.

———

Lorenz was about to turn 22, and this Garland Moon, he celebrated his birthday at home, with his father, who had watched Duke Riegan finally fall from his pedestal. Who had remained silent at the news of Claude von Riegan’s rise to leadership. Leadership under a man who had allowed the loss of their former professor to diminish his dedication to the panicking people of the Alliance. Lorenz wished he could hate him. But he had lost his hate many moons ago, when each battle was a victory and each moment at that Monastery reminded him that he was no longer alone.

He wondered, if he ever truly hated Claude von Riegan. He started to think he never did.

Did the new Duke Riegan not know of the border villages? Did he expect House Gloucester and Ordelia to manage the Imperial bandits and brigands alone? Did he not understand, what Emperor Edelgard was doing? What she was not doing, to prevent her more aggressive supporters from striking the vulnerable villages, forcing and testing the hand of his father. Did Claude know, that one wrong move would result in an invasion of land as fragile as glass?

A week passed before his father sent him out to scout the border. His father sent him to War before it even started, and each destroyed village, each mound of charred flesh, and each screaming orphan imprinted upon his brain in a cacophony of failures.

He would fight any and every battle for his father, on his life he would swear it. Even if he had never fought at his side, and never would.

He knew fire better than anyone. He never knew it could smell or sound or feel this horrifying. He battled and defended and fought, burned and clawed and snarled until it did not phase him anymore. And when Leonie joined at his side on the outskirts of Gloucester, the world made soldiers out of the both of them before it truly fell apart.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned 22, and his fingers shook too hard to weave a garland of blood red roses for the lost lives of his people, who had been more special to him than anyone could have ever understood.

  
———

Lorenz turned 23.

Edelgard would soon turn 22.

And that would take precedent, more than his birth, more than some goddess-forsaken Garland Moon tradition. Lorenz stopped expecting flowers upon his head a long time ago. It certainly would not happen, with Imperial flags staining red over the purple and gold he had loved so dearly. House Gloucester had no choice but to join the Empire. No choice but to shatter the Alliance in half. No choice but to defy every dream he had been raised to believe in.

His father knew best, Lorenz trusted him, he did. Even if the desperation to leave and return to a time where he felt prosperous instead of pathetic pulled at his heart. They had to prevent a full-scale invasion, for they were the only ones stopping such a fate from occurring and dragging the rest of the Alliance down with them.

The villages did not stop burning though.

The burning of flesh smelled the same.

_The screams all sounded the same._

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned 23, and Emperor Edelgard turned 22. The worst of her followers celebrated her birth with the burning of the garlands, of the tattered wildflowers of his home, his people. Flowers he had come to love, flowers he had taught himself to weave to place on the head of his beloved black mare.

His father did not act, and he realized for the first time in his life, that he would have to be the one that did.

———

Lorenz turned 24 and celebrated with the family he had made of the Golden Deer. They had all grown so marvelously, so courageous and brilliant and dedicated. Noble, commoner, it did not matter in the heat of battle. Hilda’s axe slashed at his side. Raphael’s strength tore through the front lines. Lysithea stunned with her magic, with a crest he knew by heart. Ignatz darted with speed and courage, matching bows with the brilliant Leonie. Marianne’s healing touched soothed his skin.

Claude and Byleth led them to victory.

Claude and Byleth, he had come to realize, were everything Fodlan needed.

Everything he could not provide.

Byleth had returned. Byleth was home. Byleth was the key to turning the tides of the War. Byleth was hope, and Lorenz would follow her to the end of the Earth. He would don any armor, ignite every fire, demolish every obstacle to keep her and the hope of the future alive. He would follow her, and in turn...He would follow Claude von Riegan too. He would accept him as his leader, and he would follow him into the future.

So when he saw the blooms return to the Duke’s head, when he saw the fire return to Claude’s eyes, the fire he had lost five years ago, Lorenz did not feel the weight he had always felt seeing a garland. He felt...light. For once, he felt lighter as he witnessed Byleth’s mark upon Claude’s head. Nobody would ever be good enough for Byleth Eisner, and yet if she was willing to weave the flowers once again for him, then Claude von Riegan was special to her, and nothing Lorenz could ever think or do or say could change that. He may never feel a garland upon his temple...

And yet perhaps it was good enough that others did.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester celebrated his 24th birthday with the only true friends he had ever known, his brothers and sisters in arms. He felt Lysithea’s hand reach over his for the cake that had soothed their nerves before they changed the course of history. He found himself staring for a moment, at how her eyes lit up after every bite, and found himself another reason to fight this bloody War, if only to find a way to keep those eyes bright and alive.

Edelgard turned 23, and the Empire fell as the Garland Moon rolled away.

———

The Garland Moon was as warm as it always had been. The rolling hills and farms brimming with precious plants, worked hard to feed the hungry mouths of more than just the Alliance now. Trade was booming, policies were changing, soldiers were settling, and the Queen’s King had returned. His feelings on Claude at that moment were still in the air, and yet he found himself pushing it away as he tended to the sprawling gardens of the estate. His estate.

He knew everything now. Every lie his father had fed him, every ounce of irreversible damage pushed into his mind. Every crime, every murder, every rotten plan and act his father had committed to create a foundation of power for Gloucester. A foundation of sins that would never be cleansed. All of the wasted years, loving a man who had never truly been capable of loving in return. The estate belonged to Lorenz now. The Crest of Gloucester belonged to Lorenz now. The lands and people of Gloucester, of Fódlan, were his responsibility now. He had begun to create his own views, experience his own freedom and build the future that Fódlan deserved. That every human being deserved, noble or common, of Brigid or Almyra or Fódlan, young and old, weak and strong. He would secure the future for all that he loved.

And he would do it his way.

He would do it with the family he had made years ago in that Monastery, amongst the bravest souls he had ever known. The family he had made with the woman he had fallen in love with without even knowing it for more than a year ago. The woman who he would soon marry, who had completed her research with Professor Hanneman in their months apart. The woman who he refused to give up on, and who had braved the removal of her Crests and had trusted him enough to let him help.

Lysithea von Ordelia was still a spitfire, sharp tongued and bold and headstrong. She was still brilliant in every manner of the word, still empathetic of the tortured and pained, still powerful with her magic without the Crests that had nearly killed her. He knew she would become an incredible professor, an incredible researcher and Crest Scholar.

He knew that he would love her until he lived no longer, however long that would be.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned 25 this day, and he was the new Count of Gloucester, with a lifetime of work ahead of him. Even so, finding time to tend to the rich roses that symbolized his homeland brought upon a moment’s reprise from the daunting tasks ahead of him. It would be even better once Lysithea returned to him, opting to take a break from the sharp sunlight while he continued to inspect his blooms. He already missed her snorting retorts to the antics of the greedier breed of nobles. Thank the supposed goddess that once resided in Lady Byleth that he had been lucky enough to not fall into such holes of greed, lest it be his name being disintegrated on Lysithea’s burning tongue.

She was merely inside, and yet he missed her dearly. Though, with how strong the sunlight was, he hated to imagine it burning her fair skin. Oh, now he was utterly distracted from the roses. How grand. He sighed lightly and fought the urge to smile with humor at the recognition of his own internal jumbling. Perhaps it was time for him to retreat back inside as well, and allow the gardeners to actually do their jobs without him butting in as he tended to do.

“Ahem! I uh...I have something for you!”

Lorenz would never openly admit how much he jumped when Lysithea’s voice boomed from behind him. Goddess, how was she so good at sneaking up on him? He turned quickly to face her, calming his racing heart with the gentle palm of his hand resting upon his chest.

“Oh! Lysithea! I did not hear you come back out. Please tell me you did not Warp out here, for I would be even more embarrassed that I had not sensed you.”

Lysithea’s eyes rolled, though the humor there was enough to lighten the atmosphere once again. “I’m not that lazy, Lorenz. I walked out here like any normal person. And...”

Lorenz frowned curiously as the humor left her eyes, replaced by an almost embarrassed look. He noticed how her cheeks reddened ever so slightly...Was she still touched too strongly by the sun?

“I know your birthday was already technically celebrated, we ate that big, wonderful cake. And I know you said you didn’t want any gift, just “my undying love and companionship”, which, in my opinion, was both the corniest and cutest words to come out of your mouth in weeks. So of course my response was to do exactly the opposite and get you something anyway- Make! Make you something! It’s personal of course, I wouldn’t be thoughtless about this kind of thing-“

Lorenz watched her stumble out her words with both amusement and confusion, and finally he could not bear to see her have to try and explain herself just to appease him. He reached out, gripping her shoulders lightly, as he looked at her.

“Lysa darling. What have you made me?”

Her eyes blinked owlishly up at him, before he realized her hands had been tightly hidden behind her back. She took a deep breath and exhaled, before he watched her pull her hands in front of her. He had expected a small craft, perhaps made with the assistance of Hilda, or perhaps an ornate crystal or tea...Instead, what he saw was a crudely woven ring of ruby red roses, freshly plucked from the gardens around them. The stems were cleanly freed of thorns, and while the weaving was loose and the petals were ruffled from multiple attempts, the end result was still the same.

A garland of Gloucester roses, right in her hands. Right before him.

He stared for a moment, crippled with a wave of confusion and surprise. He heard her words and listened as he always did, and yet he could not find it in himself to move.

“It’s the Garland Moon, so I guess I thought it would be meaningful to make one for you. Roses of course, obviously they’re your favorite. I hate killing nature but, I mean, at least we know that there’s plenty of roses to grow back, so it wasn’t really as bad as I make it seem...Oh, who am I kidding?”

Lysithea’s voice grew more embarrassed and frustrated, though it was clearly at herself and not at him.“I know, it’s probably the ugliest garland a woman has ever made in this continent! I never really made these things before, usually my mother just made them for me, and I’m sure you’d much rather prefer something more elegant. We can toss it out if you-“

“You...” He interrupted, finally finding his voice.  
“You made this for me?”

His eyes remained on the garland, trailing along each jagged weave and each frayed petal. Something burned inside of him, tearing away at a weight he had learned long ago to push away.

“Well, yeah? Who else would I make one for. The tradition is for a woman to make a garland for the one she cares for, right? Er, well, clearly that’s you. We are engaged, after all.” Her voice reflected her embarrassment, as well as the admittance of her care for him, the reminder that his love for her was returned.

Oh. That was why his heart was racing, and his chest was aching, and his throat was squeezing tight.

The Garland Moon was named for the tradition of maidens gifting garlands to the ones they deemed the most special to them. His entire life, since that day in the markets with his father’s clipped voice rumbling down upon him, he had understood the tradition and how it worked...but never had he understood what it felt like, to have a garland upon his head. The hostler and her daughter, Rosaline with the thistles and bellflowers, the memories of the lost citizens of Gloucester, the garland upon the head of his King, gifted by his Queen, before and after the wars they had won. He had borne witness to the flowers in their hair, to how special they were in someone’s heart.

He had given up on his desire to understand what it would feel like...

This is what it felt like. To be special to someone. To mean this much to another person... _This is what it felt like_.

He finally understood.

“Oh, shit. No, you’re crying! Is it really that bad? Lorenz, you know I’m not good at consoling crying! Look, I’ll throw it away, I promise. I would cry if I saw something this hideous too.”

Lysithea’s frantic look brought him back to the present. He had not even realized that his eyes had begun to burn, that his cheeks had run wet with a slipped tear. He shook his head sharply, and a choked laugh escaped him.

“N-no, oh, Lysithea. I love it. I adore it, please, do not ever throw this away.”

“I-wait, really? Then, why are you-..”

“It is embarrassing, I admit. I have never had one made for me before. I suppose...I suppose it just overwhelmed me for a moment. This-...Out of everyone, you made this for me.” He watched her through blurred eyes, blinking away the building tears with a hint of his own embarrassment. The surprise in her eyes only served to make his face redder, even in the bright sunlight.

“Wait...never, Lorenz? Not once?”

“...Never.” His eyes flickered back down to the roses in her hands, and they lidded lightly as he sighed his admittance.  
“I had come to learn and believe that such feelings that connected to the Garland Moon would probably never be expressed by another when they thought of me. I had grown content simply observing the occasion as it happened to those around me. At the very least, my territory could provide any flower needed...and I could be happy watching them celebrate with the ones they loved. They deserve to, after everything they have gone through...I apologize for crying over something as mundane as a garland, Lysithea.”

“Lean down.” Her voice was soft, yet it left no room for argument. Lorenz silenced his murmurs, trying to stop the childish tears from falling even more, before he bent down ever so slightly as she instructed. He felt her fingers brush past his hair as a minuscule weight rested upon his head. The scent of roses filled his nose, and he exhaled shakily as Lysithea pressed her lips to his cheek, rolling away one of the stray tears with her thumb.

“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry it took me this long to make you one.”

“Oh no. You have already made me happier than you could ever imagine, my dear. I need not expect garlands to know this...”

“Well.” Her voice interrupted his attempt to argue with her apology.  
“I mean it. You are so important to me. Everything you’ve done, with removing my Crests, supporting my studies, listening to me and treating me like an equal, it...It means alot to me. I know I’m not the most outwardly affectionate woman, and I detest cheesy speeches of adoration but, I do love you. Very much. And next year, I’ll make sure my garland is way nicer than this one.”

Lorenz felt a tremor at the meaning of her words, so devout and so honest. More than anything, he wanted to pull her close and hold her tight. Settling for a compromise, he lifted his hand to grasp hers and ran his thumb along her knuckles. His other hand reached up to graze the garland of roses. For a moment, he felt like the hostler’s daughter, beaming beneath a crown of roses. He sniffed once, the last of his tears falling away as he regained some of his composure.

“Nonsense. This one is _perfect_. I shall wear it proudly.”

Lysithea balked a bit, and while a smile graced her face, her voice spoke other volumes.

“Really though. Er, it is not my best work. We could make another one right now if you want.”

“No garland shall ever receive the love I hold for this one, Lysithea. Crafted with care by only the most magnificent woman-“

“Lorenz.”

“-Who shall not reach it even if she desires to replace it with another.”

“Hey! We were having a moment, you big purple sloth! Really, I think one of the roses is falling out! _Lorenz_!”

“Lysithea, I am too busy admiring and showing off my beloved garland. You will have to try again at another time.”

He spun out of his Fiancé’s frantic reach, humming with contentment when her sharp snaps turned into hapless laughs as she attempted to pull the garland back off his head. Not that he would let her, of course. Their banter and teasing were reserved for each other in moments like this, where they could relax in each other's presence. Watching Lysithea’s boundless energy would never fail to fill him with adoration.

This is what it felt like, and it felt wonderful.

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few things!
> 
> \- Any and all headcanons here are just that, brought on by how I saw the character and what I believed worked with him.  
> \- Hostlers are people who care for horses!  
> \- Please excuse any hiccups with age and timing, I'm still getting used to the dates in the game!  
> \- We can all agree that Lorenz's father is a dick.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
